


The Closest of Friends

by broi, emmaliza



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Ass to Mouth, Begging, Bickering, Come Sharing, Comeplay, Dirty Talk, Double Penetration, Felching, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Size Kink, Teasing, Threesome - M/M/M, Verbal Humiliation, in which robb is too slutty to commit double homicide, is that all the kinks idek, oversensitivity, this thing is bloody disgusting honestly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-09
Updated: 2016-10-09
Packaged: 2018-08-20 11:17:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8246878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/broi/pseuds/broi, https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmaliza/pseuds/emmaliza
Summary: No matter how close together he brings them, Robb is never going to stop Jon and Theon fighting. Not even when he brings them very close together indeed.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So, after promising broi I would write this fic, I realised I was probably never going to finish it without help, and so I made her write it with me. Strangely enough, she seemed to appreciate this rather than want to punch me. Also, I originally meant this to be quick smut, but instead it's 14,000 words because I wrote it. Also it's the filthiest thing, srsly, we bring out the worst in each other. Or possibly the best. ~~But probably the worst.~~ Either way, I am going to go pray to every deity now.

Theon always goes first. He says that's because his prick is bigger and better for opening Robb up, getting him nice and wet and loose. Jon says that's because Theon's too impatient, if he went second he'd at best spend the whole time whining about it, and at worst he'd just try and shove it in before Robb was ready and possibly tear him in half. Robb would say both those things are factors, but he doubts that will put a stop to the argument. 

“Theon,” he moans as that big, big cock slides all the way inside. He and Jon always assumed Theon's boasts about his size were, at best, an exaggeration, until they actually got into bed with him. Apparently not. Theon chuckles in his ear, and Robb's sitting in Theon's lap with his back against his chest so he can't see his face, but he imagines the smirk of lazy pride Theon wears every time he makes the heir of Stark moan like that and it makes him bite his lip. 

“You like that, little lord? Ironborn cock balls-deep in you?” 

Jon huffs as he runs his wet fingers along Robb's stretched entrance, not seeking to get in yet, but just determining the best way to do so if he was going to. A reconnaissance mission. “You know he likes it. Hence why we do this so often.” 

Robb groans in pleasure and annoyance in equal measures. Theon always wants to make him talk, because he knows it drives Jon mental, listening to Robb babble about how much he loves Theon's cock. He tries not to, but well, it is true, even if he loves Jon's just as much. But Jon's not the type to demand proof of that. 

“I know, but I like hearing him talk. He's got such a lovely voice. Such a pretty accent.” 

“We all have the same accent, Theon.” 

“We do not.” 

Robb sighs. Yes, he knows they all have the same accent, anyone to listens to them for five minutes knows they have the same accent, but Theon's very sensitive about that fact, as well as any fact that threatens his identity as an Ironborn, that reminds him he was taken from his home as a young boy and hasn't been back since. Therefore, Robb would appreciate it if Jon would shut up, because there are a lot of ways he wants them to make him feel but guilty is not one of them. 

“Ironborn cock is enough for most folk,” continues Theon, casually reasserting his identity, skimming his hands up Robb’s hips. Robb squirms, wondering if he can make Theon hold on a little tighter, make him leave bruises Robb will be blushing and hardening at the sight of them for days to come, but he knows Theon is a tease. He'll have to wait for bruises. “They say a good going-over by an Iron Islander won’t see you sitting right for days. But not this one… our little Lord Stark is just too desperate to be filled, too _needy_ for just one cock in that fucking lovely arse of his.” _Oh gods yes that's right_ , Jon raises an eyebrow and lets his fingers press a little harder against Robb's skin. He's still not breaching the hole, but gods, how Robb wants him too. He can practically hear Theon smirking over his shoulder and, to emphasise his point, he drives upwards in a hard thrust. Robb gasps. 

“Easy, Greyjoy. Don’t hurt him.” 

“I’ll take that as a compliment, Snow, that you consider my cock a weapon.” Jon frowns and Robb hears Theon's voice soften, even as he's still hard as the rocky cliffs on Pyke. “Course I won’t hurt him.” 

_Not unless I ask him to_ , Robb thinks, and shudders. Theon is naturally a little rougher with him than Jon is; that Ironborn instinct that tells him just to throw Robb down and _take_. Jon's not like that, and he remembers it took a lot of persuasion to convince Jon that yes, this was how he liked it. Persuasion, and Theon demonstrating so enthusiastically that Jon had no choice but to grab Robb and do everything Robb ever wanted to him in a fit of jealous rage. Jon felt terrible after that, but Robb just kissed him and begged him to do it again, and again, and again... and he did. He still does. 

See, Theon's naturally rougher, but he's quicker to back off. If he ever thought he'd genuinely injured Robb he'd just panic (Theon Greyjoy has many skills, but keeping a cool head in a crisis is not one of them). Deep down, Robb knows Theon loves him too much to push too far, he tries to hide it, but he's too afraid of hurting Robb, too afraid of losing Robb, too afraid of losing them both – and, Robb realises with a flinch, too afraid of their lord father's sword. Not that they'd ever let that happen. Robb would never let his father hurt Theon for loving him so much, enough to do this for him. 

Jon is different. He has to be talked into it, but when he's convinced... sometimes Robb thinks even he'll break. Sometimes he wants to. 

Robb moans and looks up, giving Jon a small, but encouraging smile. _Please Jon. You know how much I want this. How much I want you both._ Jon nods curtly, black curls bouncing, before they start to slip away and down the length of the bed, brushing against Robb's chest. He can't help but giggle (he's always been ticklish), but Theon's prick filling him up distracts him from wondering too much, until he feels lips soft and pink and perfect brushing the head of his cock. 

_Well that was obvious._

He moans and keens into Jon's mouth, earning an irritated huff and a hard thrust from Theon, reminding him who's giving him what he really wants. That is not the dissuasion Theon seems to think it is. But Jon pulls off quickly, never taking him into his mouth but instead gently holding him with a sword-calloused hand, pushing Robb's aching prick up so he can run long, wet sucking kisses along the underside. 

Theon rolls his hips lazily in a shallow rhythm, enough to keep his cock nice and hard in Robb’s arse, but not quite enough to make either of them finish too quickly. If Robb were to spend before Jon even manages to get inside…well, Robb doesn't think any of them want to think about that. Once – somewhere near the beginning of their – _this_ – Theon had been a bit selfish and had spilled all over Robb’s face (although Robb can hardly say Theon was the only one being selfish, given how much he'd loved it, had begged for it and moaned like a bitch in heat at the feel of hot seed covering him) and then he had sucked Robb’s cock dry before Jon could even get a look in. Jon had been upset about that for days, something that broke Robb's heart as much as it drove him wild with frustration, and eventually he had to force Theon to do the unthinkable: _apologise_ to Jon for hogging Robb. He said he’d never let Theon near his cock again if he didn't, and he was sure Theon was going to call his bluff – there's no way he'd be able to resist temptation like that (Robb Stark has many skills, but resisting temptation is not one of them). But Theon didn't, and honestly, Robb thinks he saw a little regret in his eyes that night when he saw how hurt Jon was. 

Really, Theon had been a fool for cheating himself out of Jon like that. Jon's not – not like Robb is (Robb tries not to think too much about what he's like), but while he doesn't squirm and keen and beg (often), there are so many things Jon does do. 

For example, what he's currently doing to Robb’s prick. 

Theon moans at the feel of Jon's breath on his balls and the base prick, his nose not even an inch away. All of them know he's teasing on purpose, and it only makes Theon fuck Robb harder. _Thank you Jon._ “Do you like Robb’s cock, Snow?” says Theon into Robb’s neck. _Do you like mine?_ goes unsaid, and Robb half-suspects that's because Theon's afraid the answer's no. “Of course you do. You love it. You’re as big a slut as little Lord Winterfell here. Desperate and dirty and—” 

Jon’s eyes darken and Theon checks himself. Sometimes Theon's mouth runs away with him, escapes him, even. He’s so used to calling Robb every name under the sun that he forgets Jon isn’t like that. Usually, it's up to Robb to slap him back in line when he starts doing that, but he'd really rather not have to tonight – he's busy, not thinking straight, and he can't really reach in this position. 

He knows Theon can’t quite bring himself to cheer Jon on the way Robb can – _“yes, Jon, you’re doing so well. You make us feel so good. Such a beautiful, perfect, good boy…”_ – not yet, anyway. It will come, it always does, when Theon can't hold back his seed or his words anymore. Robb doesn't really understand why Theon can't just tell Jon how he feels, but he knows asking the question is not going to make it any easier. So instead, he just smiles when Theon says, “Fuck, Jon. You look incredible when you’re doing that. Keep going.” 

“Thank you, Prince Theon, for giving me permission to do something I was in the middle of, and telling me to continue something I had no intention of stopping,” says Jon, dry as the Eyrie. Robb closes his eyes in irritation. 

_Seven hells Jon, he was being nice for once._

“Who put a piece of silver in you and wound you up?” says Theon, though his tone isn’t unkind. “I’ll have you reminded, Snow, whose cock is in our lord’s fine arse here. And at the moment it seems to be quite sufficient for him, as I’ve not heard him beg yet.” 

Theon starts grinding into Robb, right against that spot that makes him whimper and shiver and barely keep from spilling. Subtlety is another one of those skills Theon lacks. _And he says I'm needy._ “Please,” Robb gasps, the vaguest plea imaginable, and he lets them interpret as they will. 

“Mmm,” smirks Theon against Robb’s neck. “Such a whore, aren’t you, Stark? It’s all I can do to hold back from splitting you open, right now. You’re nothing but a hole for my cock.” _Two holes,_ Robb wants to correct him (although his mouth might not get much use tonight), but before he can Jon pinches Theon’s shin. “— _Our_ cocks, seven fucking hells. A single, gaping sluthole for our cocks. Would you like that?” 

“ _Yes_ ,” Robb moans, because gods, it's been too long, they've been teasing him all night with their petty bickering keeping them from giving him what he wants. Why aren't Jon's fingers in him yet? Robb squirms in place, begging for more, not even sure who he's begging it off of but it's Jon's eyes he's staring into, Jon's eyes going dark as he sees what a pathetic slut his brother – his handsome, noble, _trueborn_ brother – truly is. 

Robb shudders. Gods how he loves it when Jon looks like that. 

Theon either hasn't noticed, or is pretending he hasn't noticed. “I know,” he chuckles, tugging gently at Robb's earlobe with his teeth. “What are you going to be like on your wedding night Stark? You going to tell some lovely Northern maid with a paddock your lord father so desperately needs you just can't get off without a cock, no, two up your arse? You gonna beg her to let us in to help? Hmm, Snow could get in trouble for that, I think incestuous buggery is meant to be worse than just incest or buggery on their own. And imagine the look on your mother's face! It might be worth it for that alone, but she probably wouldn't let him into the wedding.” 

Jon's eyes are practically black now. _Stop baiting him, Theon,_ Robb thinks, but he doesn't mean it. 

“No, it'll have to be me taking care of you that night, letting your lady wife know what a filthy deviant she married. But I'm bigger anyway. Who knows, with my big cock and maybe a few fingers, it might be almost the same. Might stretch you just as wide; even get that little lady curious, make her add her pretty little digits in, see just how far you can go. Be easier for me than Snow anyway – he'd never dishonour your wife like that, not right in front of her. Lucky for you, you don't have any honour left for him to take.” 

“Robb.” 

He gasps at the look on Jon's face, painfully reminded of all the things he can never have, and now desperate to take what he can. _Yes, you can have me, Jon, you'll always have me, both of you have me so hard I won't be able to walk tomorrow–_

“Get up.” 

Robb blinks. Theon makes an offended noise, and thrusts once more into Robb, as if reminding him what he'll be giving up if he obeys. This isn't fair, they shouldn't make him choose between them like that – but from the look in Jon's eyes, Robb doubts he has much of a choice at all. He sighs and turns to Theon as best he can, giving him a quick, apologetic kiss on the lips. But he can't hide his shiver of excitement at how that only turns Jon's eyes darker, more wild. 

Jon's hand in his hair is strong, but it's more leading than pulling. “Follow me. Crawl, on your hands and knees.” Robb doesn't see how else he would move, but he does as he's told. Slowly, they make their way up the bed, away from the heat of Theon's body (and the sound of his incoherent whining), Jon's hand still in his hair as he walks on his knees. Jon is shorter than Robb, and skinnier, smaller all over, and yet Robb feels so very tiny beneath him. He doesn't mind. 

Once they've gotten far enough away Robb feels Jon's hand grab his arse and squeeze hard – possessive. But not hard enough to hurt. “Turn around.” 

Robb does so and sees Theon, mouth hanging open in a mix of shock, anger and want. Jon squeezes again, as a reward. “Spread yourself for me. Show me how stretched he's gotten you.” 

He reaches back with both hands, but Jon stops him. “No. One hand. I want you upright for this.” 

_Why?_ Robb wonders, but as he stares across the bed and at Theon's infuriated face, he knows why. Jon wants Theon to see his face while he does whatever he's about to do. Jon wants Robb to see Theon's face while he does whatever he's about to do. 

Robb wants to punch Jon right now, but he wants his cock more. Story of his life, really. 

It's not easy with one hand, Robb can only really pull one cheek aside before Jon takes pity on him and deals with the other one himself. “Gods, look at you,” he says at the sight of Robb, red and wet and disgusting (or so he hopes). He slides one finger straight in and Robb's so loose he barely even feels it. “You're fucking gaping. I have to give Greyjoy one thing: as much as I hate to admit it, he's got a really big cock.” 

Theon smirks. “Why thank you very much, kind sir,” he says. “Yours – well, perhaps _big_ isn't the right word, but–” 

“Shut up.” Robb can't help but agree. Jon's not even that much smaller than Theon, not really. “I heard Lara from the kitchens complaining about it once. Said she wanted to fuck his brains out, but she never could, could only ever suck him off because it was just too big. Left her all bruised and battered inside. She didn't like that much.” 

Robb moans as Jon slips a second finger into him, still not filling him anywhere near enough, and a third finger just resting by the first two as a cruel reminder. The look of smug pride on Theon's face is almost as unbearable. Lara from the kitchens is tiny anyway, two and twenty years and yet barely taller than Arya, but Robb doubts it would help him if he brought that up. 

“And yet you need more, don't you, _my lord?_ ” says Jon, voice dropping to a whisper – albeit one he clearly wants Theon to hear. 

Theon chuckles. “Snow, are you implying that my ample cock is not enough for our Lord Stark?” 

“I’m implying nothing. I’m not like you, Theon. I don’t use a thousand words when a few will do. I tell it straight.” 

“So tell it straight.” 

“Your cock alone isn’t enough for our fuckhole of a lord.” 

Theon moans and Robb _shrieks_ , frantically backing himself up onto Jon's fingers. “Jon, Jon, Jon, Jon,” he mutters, rocking back and forth. Jon doesn't call him things like that, Theon's always the one with a thousand wonderful cruel names for him, but hearing them from Jon's perfect mouth, his voice so low and gruff, his _accent_ , they all have the same accent but– “Jon, fuck me, fuck me please, please fuck me, please–” 

Jon slaps his arse to shut him up. 

“Don't pretend that'd be enough either.” 

Theon laughs. “Well of course not, it's not as–” 

“ _Shut up_.” 

Theon shuts up. 

Robb whimpers as Jon's third finger slides into him. He's right, it's not enough. “It's _never_ enough, is it Robb?” he asks. “Not my cock, not Greyjoy's, no-one's. There's not a man alive who could give you what you want without help.” 

“Hells, even the two of us can barely manage it,” Theon smirks. “Think he's always been a little disappointed we can't fuck his mouth if we're both in his arse.” 

Robb flushes, but he can't deny it. He has thought about that, having some third man in his mouth while Jon and Theon share his other hole. He's never brought it up, because he didn't want to turn their jealousy feral – he can barely control it when it's pointed at each other. Sure, giving them a common enemy might make them get along better, but he also doesn't want to have to explain to his lord father why Jon and Theon have just murdered a man. Besides, who would he even ask? 

“Perhaps,” Jon mutters as he slowly pulls his fingers out, and Robb clenches as tight as he can – which right now is not very tight – trying to keep them there. _Jon, please; I need_ something _in me_. As if in answer, he feels Jon slot his cock in behind him, pressing it up against his wet hole – but not pushing in, not yet. 

It's maybe three seconds before it's unbearable. “Jon, please,” and like that Robb is thrusting back, begging for it, rolling his hips like a Lysene pleasure slave. “I need it–” 

“My cock? You need my cock?” Jon asks and Robb nods. “It's not as big as his.” 

“I don't care,” Robb whispers and that's a fucking lie, but it's _almost_ as big and it'll _almost_ be enough, “I just – _something_ Jon, please...” 

He should think more about what he's saying but he's lost to the world right now. Jon chuckles. 

“Made him beg faster than you did, Greyjoy.” 

Theon hisses with anger as Jon's cock finally slams inside. Robb's eyes squeeze shut and he cries out at the feel of it, hot, hard and dripping, getting all the way inside him. It won't be enough, not tonight with what he's been promised, but after being denied like that it feels _so_ good. 

As Jon fucks in and out of him, Robb looks up and stares into Theon's dilated pupils. He seems to be watching with a range of emotions, or maybe just the one: lust. Lust for Robb’s wet, aching hole; lust for Jon’s rough hands resting so gently on Robb’s backside, apart from when they come down hard and _smack_ it, making him jump and moan; lust for Jon’s cock itself and the way it leans slightly to the right when it’s at it hardest. He's always jealous, is Theon, but somehow Robb doubts it's all Jon he's jealous of. 

“Don’t you dare finish,” says Theon, which makes Robb blink. _Was either of us about to?_ “This is not the time for revenge, Snow.” Theon fists his own cock in his hand, just for a moment until he shakes and lets go again. Robb understands then. Instead, Theon leans forward and offers Robb his index finger. 

“Suck,” he says. “Jon Snow isn’t the only one who can give orders around here.” 

Robb moans, eagerly parting his lips to take the finger in. He sucks as hard and as deep as Theon will let him, but it's not enough – his jaw doesn't ache, his throat doesn't struggle, his lips barely feel like there's something between them at all. With a desperate whimper Robb finds himself clawing with one hand, the other shaking and barely keeping him upright, not aided by Jon's cruel thrusts. Theon just laughs as Robb frantically tries to force a second, a third and maybe even a fourth finger into his mouth. 

“So greedy, aren’t you, you little whore? I suppose you can have all my fingers, seeing as you know where they’ll be going shortly. Get them nice and wet, Robb – that’s it. One cock will never be enough for you, will it? It’s a shame we only have two between us to treat you with. Maybe we can get some fingers in there too. What do you think? You need to be filled up, don’t you, little lordling? On Pyke, we—” 

“Theon. I swear it by the old Gods I will take my cock from Robb’s arse and ram it down your throat if you do not shut up about Pyke.” 

Robb considers biting on Theon's fingers out of spite. _No, Jon, please don't do that_ – he remembers the one time he really did, just pulled right out of Robb and shoved it into Theon without a word. He remembers how Theon moaned, shocked and humiliated, but never once tried to pull away. He remembers how Theon sprayed everywhere the second Robb got a hand, shaking and desperate while the other greedily shoved fingers inside himself, trying to make up for his sudden emptiness, around him. He remembers Jon's dark chuckle as proud Theon Greyjoy fell apart beneath him, asking _what do you love the taste of more Greyjoy, my cock or Robb's arse?_

(Which, given the number of times Jon's eaten his arse until he's fallen apart, was a bit hypocritical.) 

Maybe he's being selfish but he needs it tonight, if he has to come with neither of them in him he'll actually kill them both. _You can have it tomorrow Theon, if you must, but you never even admit you like it._

“Fine. Though if you do not want me to speak, then I’d suggest you find me another use for my frankly wonderful and talented mouth.” 

Jon's voice sounds happier than usual. “Come here, Greyjoy,” he says. Robb thinks he might be grinning. 

Theon grins back, like an eager child. 

Robb sighs as Jon stills, buried deep and not seeming interested in moving. He squirms, whines, writhes – everything he does the second he's not being fucked anymore. It's expected of him. But as Theon eagerly crawls behind him, and Robb can feel Jon slip a bit as Theon grabs his shoulders to steady himself, Robb can't help but smile. He's not the jealous type, and he always likes it when his two – his two, he doesn't know what to call them but they are _his_ – touch each other, kiss each other, love each other. Sometimes he likes it because he likes being forgotten about; he likes feeling like a whore they've agreed to hire for the night, or maybe just some toy they've fished out of a cupboard to spice things up between them. But most of time, he likes it because he knows how they really feel about each other. He knows it better than anyone, them most of all. Jon would die for Theon, and Theon would die for Jon, and Robb would die for them both. He just likes to see them _happy_ together. 

(Alright, perhaps he doesn't _just_ like that. Perhaps he likes being able to let go and forget everything but their big hard cocks without having to be afraid they might kill each other while inside him.) 

Robb can't see anything, it's almost like he's not even here while Jon's still buried inside him (and gods how that thought makes his blood run hot; it's like he really is just a fuckhole), but he can hear the wet sound of Theon licking his lips. He can hear Jon grunt before he turns his head, and the disappointed whine Theon can't quite hide. “No. When you’ve done a bit of the hard graft,  _then_  you can get my tongue in your mouth, seeing as you want it so much.” 

“I do not.” 

“Yes you do. You want  _everything_. Now get down there and put that mouth to good use.” 

When Robb's head falls into the furs, he can't be too sure if that's frustration or the fact his trembling arms can't keep him up anymore. 

He's not even sure what Theon's been instructed to do, but he hears the sound of chuckling and suddenly jumps at a soft bite on his inner thigh. Theon's tongue quickly soothes the mark, then moves higher, higher... 

Jon groans and Robb gasps as they feel Theon's tongue starting to circle them, lapping at Robb's entrance as Jon's cock slides slowly in and out of it. 

Theon murmurs gently around Jon’s cock, and the sensations of it slide across his tongue to disappear into Robb’s arse. He whimpers, needy as always, shuddering under the weight of Jon's cock and the pressure of Theon's tongue tracing him, promising to spread him further but never following through. Jon can't quite hide a groan, and Robb shudders as Jon slips just a little deeper inside him. Theon's smug laughter only drives the both of them madder. Theon likes this, seeing them come to pieces with just the touch of his tongue. Of course Robb always falls to pieces, but Jon – Jon is something different. Theon can be proud of himself there. 

“I never knew Robb’s arse could taste better than it usually does,” mutters Theon, “but with your cock in it, Snow, it’s a veritable feast.” 

There's a smile in Jon’s voice, even though his words are stern. “Then stop speaking and start taking your fill. Is your talk about being Ironborn just that: _talk_?” 

Then Jon gasps as Theon makes wet, sucking noises, pulling back slightly to give him more room. Robb gives a weak, mewling cry, begging for more, but they both just ignore him. It's not like he's going anywhere. Robb can't know what exactly Theon is doing, but he can hazard a guess – it _does something_ to Jon that neither he nor Theon are able to explain when someone takes his balls into their mouth, and must do even more so when he's already buried deep in Robb's hole. Really, they're spoiling Jon like this, although given all the times Robb's had them both serve him at once maybe he has no right to complain. Jon's thrusts are shallow, uncontrolled, still unsure if he wants Theon's sucking lips or Robb's gaping arse more. Robb almost wants to cry with frustration. 

He knows Theon isn't even remotely sorry. He's too busy getting his own back on Jon, for stealing Robb from his cock and for years of unresolved arguments and for being so lovely he made Theon want to do this in the first place. Theon hums a moan of pleasure and for a minute Jon stops thrusting, making Robb want to kill them both, then he groans gutturally and a hand flies from Robb's hip and the bruises left behind on it, not reducing the urge to kill them both. Then he hears Theon yelp as a hand fists hair (for that's the only thing that makes Theon yelp like that). 

Robb wonders when Jon got to take control of them both like that, although he's sure Theon doesn't think of it that way, even if it's true. But Theon would never admit it. Jon must feel incredible, with his cock in Robb’s arse and Theon’s lips around his balls. If Robb asked, Theon would pretend that was why, because he just wants to reduce gruff and surly Jon to the same moaning, begging, slutty mess that Robb is. Because sure, it's _Jon_ that's the slutty mess, getting on all fours to lick at a cock that doesn't even have the decency to pull out of Robb long enough to fuck his mouth properly. Robb doesn't know who Theon thinks he's fooling; he barely even seems to fool himself. _Theon wants Jon to feel as good as I do_ , and knowing that, something Theon probably won't even let himself know, gives Robb a strange rush of power. That's unusual, he's never been the type to get off on power – he has too much without having ever done anything to earn it, or prove he can handle the responsibility. If he got off on power, this is probably not how their nights together would go. But there is something about being the one who knows Theon Greyjoy's dirty little secret – for all his cocky boasts and elaborate proclamations about how the Ironborn _take what they want_ , more than anything he just wants to please them. He wants to give, not take. 

The revelation is almost satisfying enough to make up for the fact Jon _still_ isn't as buried as deep as he was before Theon came over. 

“I think you know it’s much more than talk, Snow,” says Theon, releasing Jon. Robb moans incoherently, trying to remind them he is still wanting what he's been promised (to hell with his thing for being forgotten about). They’re both teasing him, making him wait for his real reward, his full treatment. “I will have what I want, whether you give it to me or whether I take it for myself.” 

“What if I want your lips back on my cock?” says Jon, his voice hoarse with need, Robb knows he's reaching for Theon’s hair again. “Get back to it. _Now_.” 

Jon’s being rougher than he normally is and Robb's almost annoyed – almost _jealous_ – that Theon earns harsh words and orders and demanding hands so much more easily than he does. _Theon won't even admit he likes it_. He’s rocking into the bed, trying to force Jon in deeper, or at least make up for the neglect of his arse by getting some friction on his cock instead. When he looks up, he sees Theon is doing much the same thing. Jon of course has Robb to bury himself inside, although he's not really taking full advantage of the opportunity. When he crooks his head Robb can see Theon wince in pain as Jon pulls his hair tighter, and then Jon says, his eyes full of worry, “shit – does that hurt?” 

“Yes it fucking hurts,” says Theon. “Do it again.” 

Oh, how Robb can relate to _that_. 

Jon grins and holds Theon’s head down on the base of his cock where it disappears into Robb’s arse – _oh, thank the gods_ – and Theon has no choice but to open his lips and suck Robb’s stretched hole. _Oh gods yes just like that_ , Robb thinks, squirming as Theon's tongue tortures and teases him, then finally, _finally_ , just the tip of it slips inside. Jon releases a tortured, keening groan and begins to move again, slowly at first, but then faster, Robb gives a wild cry as Jon thrusts against that spot that makes his head spin, and Theon moans, loud – it must be smearing all over his face, everything, oil from Robb's arse, and Theon's own saliva, and the salty, sweet tastes from Jon’s cock. 

“Hold yourself open,” mutters Jon, and Robb has to blink a second before he realises Jon is talking to him. “Both hands, now. Good boy.” Robb's hands are shaking as they do so, desperate to spread himself as wide as he possibly can, show them just how needy for it he really is. “Theon. Open your mouth.” 

“Why? I don’t want to stop su—” 

“Must you argue with everything I say?” 

“No, I just—” 

“Open your fucking mouth, you – you – and keep it open.” 

Robb wonders what had just been on Jon's lips, then, that he decided was too horrible to say. It's rare he holds back while insulting Theon, even here (no, especially here). But some things he does. Theon’s always hard to predict: when an insult will drive him wild, make him keen and beg for cock the same way Robb does, and when it will actually hurt him, leave him sullen and bitter but refusing to admit it. It's probably for the best Jon didn't say it. If Robb has to put up with any more distractions he really will kill them both. 

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Jon's hand reaching for Theon's face, and the bruises on his hips throb. Robb can see Theon eyeing them, and he hopes desperately Theon will do whatever he wants about them, but Theon doesn’t get close enough, Jon’s hand takes hold of his chin and tilts his face upwards. 

“Open your mouth, Theon, and tell me what you want.” 

“I want – I—” 

“Ask nicely.” 

_For fuck's sake Jon_ , thinks Robb, still nowhere near full enough. 

“I – I’d like—” 

“Better.” 

“I’d like you to fuck Robb’s arse, hard and fast, until it’s gaping wide. I want to get my fingers inside and wrap them around your cock as you fuck him…I want to feel his tight little hole graze my knuckles…” _Gods, yes Theon, if that's what you want just do it already, if I don't get your fingers in me soon I'll die_. “But before that I want – I’d _like_ – to get your cock nice and wet, Jon. I want to taste Robb’s arse on your prick, and I want you to get it so far down my throat that I can’t breathe... and then I want you to fuck him again, and then my throat again, until Robb’s arse is too stretched to feel anything at all, and that’s when we’ll—” 

Jon’s breath hitches. “ _Seven hells_ , Theon.” 

Robb can only mewl, keen, writhe, and they still don't seem to notice, too caught up in their little competition as to who can drive the other madder to be aware of how mad they're making him. And then Theon, being Theon, plays his favourite card: “If you think your bastard cock’s good enough to handle all that, of course.” 

Jon growls, slides his hand from Theon’s chin to his cheeks, squeezes his mouth open, and in one movement takes his cock from Robb’s arse. And he's _empty_. Robb whines, squeezing his own arse like that will make up for it somehow, but that does nothing. He tries thrusting into the air but the wintry chill only mocks him as it runs across his wet and gaping hole. Jon has his cock buried balls-deep in Theon’s throat before Theon can say another word, and Robb hears him gag five, maybe six times – _Jon please, I need that in me, anywhere, I need something in a hole, I'm just a hole and I need it in me_ – before Jon pulls out and his cock is back in Robb’s arse. 

Robb gives a moan of pure satisfaction as Jon's cock claims him once more, thrusting hard and rough and fast, as many times as he did in Theon. For a moment it's so good Robb might come from it, but with a cock in him he can finally think again, and he realises what game Jon's playing. He whines and clenches as tight as he can, as if that will stop it, bracing for the inevitable loss. 

“Jon—” Theon coughs. 

“You wanted it,” mutters Jon, his voice thick with lust. “Greyjoys – eyes too big for their stomachs. Open.” 

And then Jon’s cock is in Theon’s throat again, leaving Robb gaping and practically screaming in frustration, hands still spreading his arse wide for a fuck that's not coming, and gods it's so tempting just to shove his fingers in and give himself what he wants if they won't, but Robb is the eternal optimist and he hasn't given up hope yet. He doesn't really think his boys would ever deny him what they've been promising all night, no matter how caught up in each other they get – not if they want to keep their fucking heads. They _will_ have their way with him, eventually, so long as he's patient and resists the urge to murder them first. 

_But Theon won't even admit he likes it_ , he thinks, petulant, as Theon doesn't moan or plead or anything, though when he looks he knows that's hardly fair – Jon is so deep down Theon's throat he probably can't even breathe, let alone speak. Robb knows he's being selfish, and a hypocrite, but for all he wants his boys to get along and share nicely he's never really learnt how to share himself. _But they know what I'm like_ , he thinks. _They made me admit how one would never be enough. And now I'm not even getting that!_

But then Jon’s cock is back, and Robb feels a thick string of saliva from Theon’s mouth snap across his arse as Jon takes it to his hole, fucking him hard once more. "Good whores," mutters Jon, more to himself that either of them, Robb thinks, because Jon needs to say these filthy things but doesn't want to say them _to_ them. "Good boys – sweet little lords, yes. You want this. Show me how much you like it." Robb lets out some noise that's just as disgustingly pathetic as all the ones before it and Jon arches into him in response, giving him every iota of cock he can, and Robb is so fucking grateful even if it's _still not enough_. Theon just falls to pieces. 

“Fucking love you,” he gasps, to both of them. 

All Robb's frustration fades away in a second (although Jon's cock is helping to fuck it out of him). _Oh Theon_ , he thinks and he wants to kiss him, but he can't really move like this (if Theon moved just a few inches closer he could, and he could taste Jon's cock and his own arse in Theon's mouth too). _I know how hard that is for you, but I love you so much too, Jon does as well, and I don't know why it's so hard for you two to tell each other that but I'll say it a thousand times over for every time you can't, I love you–_

Jon smiles through his huffs and grunts and says, “Well, that's new.” 

Robb's frustration comes back. _Seven hells Jon, it's usually Theon who can never let it go, even when you make an effort! The Others take this, as soon as I come I am murdering you both._

“Piss off,” Theon pants, and touches his saliva-slick fingers to the base of Jon’s cock and Robb’s hole. All Robb's thoughts of murder evaporate as he whines and keens, begging Theon to just put them in, he's _so_ loose– “Fuck me, Robb. I could slip at least two straight in.” Theon smirks. “Want me to?” 

Robb's mouth hangs open in pleasure and indignation as Theon just grins at him. _You cheeky little_ – “That – is the stupidest fucking–” his voice is absolutely wrecked from all his wailing, his throat hurts like it's been fucked for weeks, and every word is punctuated by one of Jon's vicious thrusts. And yet, Robb can't give up. He has to get his own back somehow. “–question – I've ever – _heard_ –” 

Jon slaps his arse and Robb shrieks, head almost falling into the furs. “Don't be greedy, Robb,” he says, and Robb can't even remember to bristle in indignation because he's suddenly struck by how much Jon sounds like their father – he already looks too much like him and that is not something Robb wants to think about at all (even if, from the dark look that clouds over his eyes, Robb kind of suspects Theon does). 

Luckily for him, Theon bristles on his behalf. “Really Snow, you're going to tell him that _now_?” he asks. “Would you ask a cow not to moo? A horse not to whinny? A Dornishman not to stink of wine and cunt?” Robb can barely pay attention to the particulars of what Theon says, but he pays attention to how it makes Jon huff. “Really, our poor little slutling can hardly help it. Not after you've teased him so terribly–” 

“ _I've_ teased him?!” 

“Aye, you've teased him,” Theon grins. “Took him off a real cock to give him your smaller one, then wouldn't even give him all of that–” 

“Oh yes, because no-one's slutty mouth came in begging for a piece of my small, not good enough, ‘ _not like an Ironborn's_ ’ cock–” 

“I was perfectly happy just giving it a bit of a lick to help Robb out, see if that would make it hard enough to get a little bit bigger, but you just couldn't resist fucking my throat – already buried in Robb's needy arse but it wasn't good enough for you–” 

“Robb's arse could never be as needy as your throat Greyjoy.” 

“Fuck!” Robb cries out, equal parts pleasure and irritation so acute it's physically painful. _You've both teased me, you monsters, and if you wanted to make it up to be you could just shove both your cocks in and give me what I want, but no you're just going to keep bickering!_ His throat is far too sore to say all that out loud though. 

“Something the matter, Lord Stark?” Theon asks, and Robb is rather tempted to spit in his face. He doesn't want to give Jon the satisfaction though; he'd spit in Jon's face too if he could see it. “It's that needy hole of yours, isn't it? Driving you crazy. Poor Snow's doing his best but it's just not enough, you need to be stretched until you break.” 

Jon has actually gone completely still, and completely silent, waiting for Theon to act. Robb would be relieved but he still wants it so much, and Theon is still taunting him, rubbing his hole where it swallows Jon's prick, stretching him just that little bit further even when his own hands are practically tearing him apart. Robb breaks. 

“Theon _please_.” 

He chuckles, but Robb can't bring himself to mind because then Theon's fingers finally, _finally_ slip inside and Robb moans like a bitch in heat as he feels himself stretch just that little bit wider. 

“See little lord, I might tease, but I always keep my promises in the end,” he whispers, and Robb can barely hear him past the sound of his own heartbeat racing. “Didn't even wait until you begged that much, did I? Didn't make you say 'please, Lord – no, sorry, _Prince_ Theon – please stuff your fingers in my dirty little hole until I split in half, please' – could have done, but didn't. Aren't you lucky I'm so kind?” 

Robb opens his mouth to respond, but nothing emerges but a long, low groan. _Anything you say Theon, just keep going._ Theon's fingers push in deeper, down to the knuckle, and Robb feels Jon throbbing at the feel of them against him, and Robb's greedy arse clutching tight around them both. 

“It'd be even nicer if Snow would fucking thrust already, wouldn't it?” 

“Wouldn’t want to break your fingers, Greyjoy,” says Jon, though he does start to move, slowly at first. Robb's about to beg him to go faster when he realises just how much Jon's thighs are trembling. _He's about to spill._ Want and fear do battle in Robb's head. He loves it when they spill inside him, claiming their territory, leaving him absolutely dripping with it – he still moans when he thinks about the nights they've taken turns with him, again and again and again, until he's lost count of how many loads of come he's had and they just keep going until they're both exhausted, using each other's seed to slicken the way. _But not tonight._ No, Robb is not letting either of them spill without having them both balls-deep inside him. They _promised_. 

“Mmm,” says Theon, doing all he can to assume his usual arrogant tone – but he cannot hide how his breath hitches with need. Probably he's noticed how close Jon is, and is struck by the thought of him spilling right into Robb and all over Theon's fingers. Robb knows Theon is still a little jealous he wasn't the first to ever have Jon. Jon always said he’d done over someone from Winter Town in his fifteenth summer, though he didn’t specify whether it had been a boy or a girl, and both Robb and Theon sort of doubt it happened at all (though Robb knows Jon's not a natural liar). In all likelihood, it was Robb who took Jon's first time – he was tight as a maiden, Robb remembers, although maybe his Winter Town lover had simply not performed that particular act. Robb remembers that Jon was completely destroyed by the time he was done. It's not as if he never likes being the one to fuck, to tear them apart with his cock, even though it's hard to remember that right now. Theon could only take his cock in his hand and spend all over Jon’s face. 

Robb would tease Theon for just how much he likes spending all over their faces, if not for just how much he likes having his face spent over. 

(But not tonight.) 

He hears Theon spit twice: first on the palm of his free hand which goes immediately to his cock, and second straight onto Robb’s arse. He shudders at the feel of it dripping across him, mixing with all the other fluids leaking from him, sweat and slick and precome. _Gods, what have they done to me, I'm already filthy and they haven't even_ – “There you go, whore. Do you know how many fingers I have in you, Robb Stark? For it is not all of them, as you seem to be quite satisfied with your lot thus far.” 

Robb knows exactly how many fingers there are in him. _Two. You know I can take more, you little tease_. He tries saying that aloud, but nothing comes out but a strange strangled noise that makes Theon smirk. 

“Well, there’s one finger for how nicely you just said please—” Theon curls his index finger around Jon’s cock, and Robb whines as Jon thrusts a little harder, “—and there’s another finger for how obediently you sat on your Prince’s cock and allowed him to stretch you—” 

“Shame it didn’t take much to get him off it,” mutters Jon. His thrusts are becoming more erratic now and Robb whimpers as he can't help but clench. _No, Jon, don't spill, not yet_. Desperate, Robb looks to Theon for help. Theon rolls his eyes, sighs, and abandons his own prick to take the base of Jon’s in the tight ring of his thumb and forefinger, just as he slips his third finger in to make Robb shriek (and, probably, to drive Jon to the edge of madness). 

“Don’t you dare, Snow,” Theon says, ignoring Robb's whining. “Hold on. There’s a _good boy_ , as you’re so fond of calling us.” 

“There’s other things I can call you,” moans Jon. 

(Frankly, Robb suspects this back-and-forth isn't helping him hold back at all.) 

“Save it for when my cock’s showing your cock how it’s done,” replies Theon, and that third finger gets to sink all the way to the knuckle just once. Then the fingers are gone. _Traitor!_ Robb wants to shout, although he realises in a second how silly he's being. He knows what Theon's doing. And yet, he's satisfied by Theon's wince as he hears Robb moan in utter despair. “Shh, Robb. Be patient, little lord. It’ll all be better soon.” Then, as an afterthought: “ _Slut_.” 

Robb sees Theon looking over his shoulder, meeting Jon’s eyes with a hard stare. Jon hisses and curses in Robb's ear, pulling back just a little too much and Robb wants to whine and beg some more, but he knows why. Once Theon is satisfied that Jon has slowed himself down sufficiently, he releases Jon’s cock, then reaches to spread Robb's _arms_ , oddly. It takes Robb a second to piece together what he's doing, but before long Theon is sliding his lean body underneath Robb’s, lying back on the bed beneath him, and Robb has to arch his back to give him room – then Jon curses and thrusts deep in once more, brushing right against that spot that sends Robb spinning, and his arms give way as he collapses onto Theon’s chest. For a moment he just wants to lie there, cling to Theon like a child as they have their way with him, but he doesn't think it would work from that angle. Theon pushes him back, supporting him with his hands. 

“Come on, little lord,” whispers Theon. “sit forward nicely, there you go. Now, I want you to straddle me and ride my cock like the two-copper whore that you are. Except, you are going to have to be very careful about it, because I believe you have rather carelessly left another – albeit smaller – cock up that slutty hole of yours.” 

“When I’ve split him, I’ll split you too, Greyjoy,” mutters Jon. His thrusts are getting erratic again. 

“Slow down, Jon. This is for Robb,” says Theon, and his voice takes Robb's breath away – it's not Lord Greyjoy's voice, or an ironborn reaver's, or the Prince of Pyke's, or that of any one of the thousands of people Theon pretends to be or pretends he wants to be. It's just Theon's. 

Jon pulls out then, and Robb moans again at his emptiness but it's not a complaint this time, not really, because he understands. The gesture is rather touching. Jon doesn't do it because he feels slighted or told off, but because he knows Theon’s right, and for this moment alone he's willing to admit it – with his body if not his words. But Robb can only be touched so long because _finally_ they're done tormenting him, and Theon doesn’t tease around his hole with his fingers, or snip some smart remark designed to make Jon’s eyes darken and his resolve snap. Instead he takes Robb roughly by the hips and pulls him down onto his cock, and Robb gasps, moans and shouts all at once, he can't even describe the sound he's making, it just feels so good, Theon's whole cock buried in him in a second like that. 

“Want to see your tongue,” murmurs Theon. _Why_? Robb wonders, but it doesn't matter, he'll do anything Theon asks so long as he gets more of that hard Ironborn cock, and Jon's bastard one as well. “Lick your lips, slut. Oh _gods_ , yes. More. Work for what we’ve paid you.” 

If nothing else it's something to concentrate on so he won't spill before Jon even gets inside him. Robb licks and bites and sucks at his own lips until they're as pink and swollen as Jon's always are, then he lets them just hang open in half a pout half a gasp, taunting them with the prospect of shoving themselves down his throat even if they can't tonight. _Well after they teased me so much, it's only fair_. Theon stares for a moment, transfixed, but then his gaze wanders back over Robb's shoulder. Robb hears the sound of Jon spitting, then groaning with a wet noise as he fists his cock for a few moments, and then _his_ cock is pressed against Robb and ready to enter his loose, needy hole too. Robb can't keep his eyes open, he shakes all over, the anticipation is killing him, _Seven hells Jon just do it I need you to rip me in half_ – “You ready?” Jon asks. _That is the second stupidest fucking question I've ever heard_ , Robb wants to say, but Theon sort of beats him to it. 

“Course he’s ready,” breathes Theon. “He’s always ready. If he had his way he’d spend every day like this, tied up in his chambers, arse spread, _ready_. Fuck being Lord of Winterfell.” 

Robb moans, long and low, because Theon's right, gods how right he is. He can see it, laying naked on his furs all day, wet and needy and aching for it, so Jon or Theon or the both of them (or maybe some other man, or maybe _any_ man) could use him whenever they felt like a quick fuck. He knows he could never, not really, he could never abandon his mother and father and brother and sisters like that, and all the responsibilities they come with. He will be Lord of Winterfell one day, whether any of them like it or not (though if he's honest, he knows none of them would get off on this so much if he weren't going to be Lord of Winterfell one day). If Robb's family even knew about _this_ they would be so disappointed. If their subjects, their bannermen, the _North_ knew it would destroy him. But Robb can forget, just for a little while, stuffed to the breaking point like this and begging for more. Jon and Theon both make him take cock so well he forgets he was born for any other purpose at all. 

Theon’s hands slide from Robb’s hips to his arse cheeks, spreading them for Jon. Robb whimpers, almost beyond the reason it takes even to beg. “In you go, Snow. I hate to admit it, but I want to feel that pretty little cock of yours as much as Robb here does.” 

_I'm not sure that's possible_ , Robb thinks as he twitches around Theon's prick, still so very fucking empty. 

“Little?” says Jon, and with help from his thumb opening Robb’s hole just a fraction, Jon pushes the head of his prick inside Robb’s arse. 

Robb can't even scream anymore. He tries but his mouth just hangs open, gaping, as Jon's cock finally stretches him wide as he needs. Gods, he's so _full_. He keens silently as every inch of Jon slowly makes its way in, so deep, filling up places Robb didn't even know he had and then it curves just right, right against that spot that feels better than anything in the Seven Kingdoms, and Theon is still so hard and big buried inside him and Robb loves it so much, he loves them, it's too much, it's not enough– 

“ _Shit_ ,” hisses Theon. Robb can feel him trembling with the effort it takes not to just thrust straight in, fuck Robb hard and not even care if it rips him to shreds. Some mad part of Robb wants to beg him to give in, to give it to him so hard it might kill him, but he knows Theon never actually would. That's what he loves about his boys. They push him so far, so far he always feels like he's about to break, but they never actually let him. 

(Sometimes he's afraid they will push too far. No, they won't push too far, _he_ will – they won't want to, but he'll be moaning and writhing and pleading for it and they've never been able to deny him anything. Sometimes he's afraid it will kill him another way, it'll just feel so good he'll never be able to want anything else again, whatever was once Robb Stark will die and only the fuckhole will remain. Sometimes he _wants_ that to happen.) 

When Robb finally can make a noise, he thinks all the Maesters there's ever been couldn't tell if it were more pain than pleasure, or more pleasure than pain. Robb wonders if there's such a difference. Jon and Theon only get harder at the sound of him, and Robb feels even more full, and surely there's some point where he just won't be able to take anymore but he cannot stop until he finds it. 

Jon curls his body around Robb’s, sliding one hand around Robb’s waist and the other skimming Theon’s hip. For a moment Robb wants to beg him to move that hand further down, to wrap it around Robb's prick, aching so hard it might fall off. But if Jon did that this would be over in a second, and that is the last thing Robb wants, not after he waited so long for it. 

“Shh, it's alright Robb, I've got you,” Jon is whispering in his ear, although Robb's head swims so much he can't be sure how many of the words are the ones Jon is actually saying, how many is memories of all the things Jon has said, and how many are said in the look in Theon's eyes, signalling all the things he finds the hardest to say when such filth drips from his tongue like syrup. “We won’t hurt you, little lord, unless you want us to. We’ve got you. You feel so tight – so amazing. The best arse in the Seven Kingdoms. Do you want to be our hole to fuck, forever? Because we want that. We need you. Don’t cry, Robb. You’re doing so well.” Robb is starting to cry, completely overwhelmed, and despite Jon's words he can't bring himself to try and stop. 

Jon’s chin comes to rest on Robb’s shoulder, and Theon is just staring up at the two of them, and Robb feels wonderful, teased and tortured and degraded and humiliated, but through it all _loved_ , so loved– 

“Do it—” gasps Theon. “Fuck his arse, Jon. Do it. Do it, please.” 

“ _Please_ ,” Robb echoes, and maybe they don't need him to say that but he needs to say it. He needs them to know how much he wants them, loves them, needs them, forever and always. How much he wants, loves and needs _this_. 

Jon groans and pulls back oh so slightly, like he doesn't want to leave Robb for a second moment longer than he has to – Robb doesn't want that either. He goes so slow, painfully slow, until Robb whimpers with need _more, harder, faster_ , he can't even be sure if he's saying it aloud or not and they've only just begun. 

“Fuck,” whispers Theon with trembling lips and, despite being gasping in Robb's ear, Jon manages to snort. 

“Eloquent.” 

“Piss off.” 

_Oh for the love of_ – 

It's messy, at first, as Theon tries to slide into Jon's rhythm and Robb winces in pain once or twice as he doesn't quite manage it. But then Theon's fingers dig into his hip right next to Jon's and pull him down harder, Jon sliding out a little as Theon thrusts up and in, then Jon claims him back as Theon falls away, and that's how it works, the two of them pushing against each other, moaning at the nigh-painful friction inside Robb's sore and sopping hole, and Robb's never empty, not for a second, he can only keen like that, so full, he can't get enough, he can't ever get enough. 

“ _Harder_ ,” he gasps. 

Jon moans and curses in his ear. Theon's nails press hard enough they'll leave their own motley patch of bruises atop the ones Jon left. “Gods, look at you,” he says, smirk playing on his features even if it doesn't match his eyes that have gone black with lust. “Two cocks shoved all the way in and you're still begging for more, huh?” 

“Then stop talking and give it to him,” snaps Jon, thrusts quickening almost involuntarily. 

Theon laughs. “Oh I will, Snow. I'm not trembling on the edge like you are. I'll give it to him long and hard until even he can't take it anymore. Might have to stick it somewhere else after.” 

Jon snorts. “I'd like to see you try.” 

“Oh, I've tried a lot, and I've succeeded too.” 

“I've had a few successes of my own Greyjoy. I've seen you fall apart on my cock and come so hard you got it on your own face without me even touching you.” 

“Whereas you, you don't even need my cock in you. I remember how you spilled in your breeches like a greenboy just looking at it while I wanked all over _your_ face – _ow_!” 

Robb assumes Jon's done something to get his own back, but then he feels soft dark locks beneath his hands and realises no, it was _him_ who just yanked Theon's hair like that. Theon looks surprised too. “Later,” he tells them, a bit of a growl to his voice. “I need...” 

Something's changed and Theon moans beneath him, as Robb's fingers dig deeper into silky black, grabbing at him like reins. Jon snickers against his neck and Robb groans. “No, Jon,” he warns. Jon's taken aback. Gods, his throat is so sore, but he just– “No more fighting. No more distractions. _Fuck me_.” 

This isn't what it's like. Usually, he lets them do anything they want to him until he falls to pieces beneath them – and he has, they have done anything and everything to him and he's fallen apart, fallen apart so thoroughly he no longer even cares about being reduced to a common whore, weak and powerless. He'll do _anything_ to get just a little bit more. Even take control, if he has to. 

“Well look at you, Lord Stark,” Theon smirks, thrusts getting faster, harder, _faster harder faster harder gods yes_ – “Not such a begging little whore anymore, are you? No, now you're a demanding whore. A _commanding_ whore. A whore ordering about the men fucking him, am I right?” 

Jon snarls and buries his teeth in Robb's neck, and that feels so good he can barely speak but– “Well, someone has to.” 

Theon laughs and pauses a moment – Jon doesn't, and so the rhythm changes, they both thrust in at once and Robb can't help but scream. “Don't expect any mercy from us then, _my lord_ ,” says Theon, and Robb thinks _mercy is the last thing I want_. “Now let's see how long you can keep that up.” His hands grab Robb’s hips, so much tighter than is necessary, and it hurts. _Seven hells, yes, hurt me_. The splay of bruises across his skin tomorrow is going to be incredible; Robb will have to wear a long tunic to keep them hidden, and to keep himself from getting hard at the sight of them constantly. Almost immediately, Jon’s hands are on top of Theon’s and Theon shoots Jon a look – for a moment Robb is terrified Jon's about to put a stop to this – but instead, Jon interlinks his fingers with Theon’s, holding them tightly, as they both fuck into Robb, hard. He gasps and throws his head back so hard he almost snaps his neck. He just feels _claimed_ , his arse and his hips and his body and everything else, it's all theirs, _he's_ theirs. 

Robb can barely handle it, but Theon doesn't cope much better. “Jon—” he gasps. “What—” 

“He’s – _ah_ – he’s ours, and you’re – you’re mine,” Jon pants. “You both feel – amazing—” 

“Jon—” cries Theon again, and all of a sudden Jon just fucks so hard and Theon looks almost terrified and it's too much, Jon’s fingers tighten around Theon’s and Theon’s tighten back and they both dig into Robb's skin like they want to get as deep inside him as their cocks are. Robb makes a cracked, desperate sound, frozen with fear he's about to come, _no not yet I want more_ , then he feels a splash of heat and thinks he has, but no, out of nowhere Theon is coming, coming so hard the force of it almost knocks Robb over, spilling into Robb’s arse and around Jon’s cock, wailing like a lost child, gripping Robb’s arse and Jon’s fingers so hard that his knuckles whiten. Robb is terrified it's about to turn into another argument. 

But all Jon says is “So hot – so wet—” lost in his need, which is a relief, and Robb just lets it go because oh, Theon's come in him feels incredible, dripping around both their cocks and Theon always spills so _much_ , and Robb loves every single drop. He almost wishes he could lick it all up, but he's not that flexible. Robb knows he shouldn't, that it must hurt, but he can't help himself he needs more, and so he rocks his hips even as he cringes with guilt as he listens to Theon's gasp of pain. Jon hesitates, and Robb almost whimpers at the thought it's about to stop, he knows it is. Then Theon speaks. 

“Keep going, Jon. Don’t stop until he can’t take any more.” 

They're both taken by surprise, but when Robb looks into Theon's eyes and the look in them – wild, desperate, and _in love_ – Robb knows he means it. None of them know if that's even possible, given what Robb's like, how he likes to just lie there and let them take him and take him even when it's fucking agony, but surely even he has to have a limit? (Though he's never found one, and sometimes it terrifies him when he thinks if it were up to him they'd _never_ stop.) Theon's seed is starting to leak from Robb’s arse where Theon’s cock is beginning to soften. _No_ , thinks Robb, petulant again, _I need that in me. I want both their cocks keeping his come inside me._

Jon makes a bemused noise but does as Theon says, which is a rare occurrence at the best of times, pushing back and forth and leaving Theon's come smeared all over Robb's hole. Theon gives a small whimper, the sort of noise he will never admit to having ever made in his life, then releases Jon’s hands and finds Robb’s stretched, wet hole. Two fingers slide in immediately, and Robb cries out with pleasure and pain and just such overwhelming want, but Theon doesn’t remove his cock, slowly wilting and leaving space Robb just _needs_ filled in (Theon's prick swells a lot when he's hard, which is another reason Jon and Robb never used to believe his boasts). Instead, he adds a third finger and wraps them all around his prick, wincing at how sensitive he is – and Robb knows it's all for him, they love him so much, for all their bickering they'll do anything to make sure he's satisfied. Robb can only pray he can ever love them as much as they love him, that they can love each other that much, because they deserve no less. Deep in Robb’s arse, Theon carefully separates his knuckles so that each graze out, and back in, the ring of muscle as Jon speeds up his thrusts. 

And with his other hand, Theon takes a firm grip of Robb’s cock. 

Robb screams again. 

“You’ve been such a patient whore,” Theon coos, and Robb can barely even hear him, too swamped by his own racing heart and his utter fullness and the effort it takes from every inch of his body to keep from coming that second. But he has to, because he wants to listen to the filth Theon is about to tell him. “You’re such a lucky boy to have Jon Snow’s cock up your arse, aren’t you? I only got it in my throat but it wasn’t nearly enough for me. Such a greedy boy, too, that Jon and I had to leave our arses unfilled. It’s a good job we love you, little lordling. Little slut.” 

Theon kisses Robb then, sucks his tongue into his mouth. The kiss is a wet, filthy thing, drool slipping between their lips – for a second Robb really wants to pretend it's come – but Robb knows just how much love there is in Theon's dirty, dirty mouth, no matter how he tries to hide it. Robb also knows Theon loves his mouth, almost as much as his arse, and almost as much as Jon's perfect pout. He doesn't think he'll have the energy tonight, he doesn't think he'll be able to even _move_ tonight, but he owes Theon his lips and tongue some time soon. He's not had his mouth on Theon's arse for a while – at least five days – and he knows Theon loves it when he does that, as much as he does when Jon does it. Maybe they could both do it at once, and really blow Theon's mind. Robb feels like he deserves that. Theon takes Robb’s bottom lip between his teeth, nips gently. “Fuck. Can’t wait until you spill. It’s going to go all over my chest… perhaps even my face, you’re so desperate for it. You’re going to make a mess of me, Lord Stark, and guess what? You are going to lick it all up.” 

Robb moans, kissing Theon again to make up all the words his lips can no longer speak, words like _yes you know how I love it when you make me lick up come, I know how you love it when I kiss you and shove all that seed into your mouth, you know how I love how much you do for me, I love how much you love me_ – 

“Fuck,” grunts Jon, and gods how could Robb have ever forgotten him? His thighs are shaking, his thrusts desperate, and Theon flinches at every one. “Theon, are you _sure_ you're alright?” 

“Fine,” Theon gasps, not all that convincing, and Robb is torn – he doesn't want to hurt Theon, he never wants to hurt Theon, but he really doesn't want him to pull out either. 

“Theon...” 

“I want it, Jon,” he says. “I want him in my lap and my cock buried in his arse and I want his fucking legs spread–” Robb mewls in pleasure and gratitude and tries to spread his legs just a little bit wider, “–and I want you to look me in the eye as you bend over and fuck him. Remember that time in the Godswood? I want it that hard. Even if I scream. Even if I cry, or tell you to stop – _especially_ if I tell you to stop – by all the gods in all the fucking Seven Kingdoms I want it, Jon.” 

“ _Fuck!_ ” Then Jon's teeth are back in Robb's neck, seizing him like a wolf with a bitch, as his hips jerk wildly and he comes with smothered moans, ones Robb echoes effortlessly at the feel of yet more come spilling inside him, hot and wet and Theon's moaning too, it's all too much, too much for all of them and Robb never ever wants it to stop. 

But stop it does, as Jon runs out of seed to give him, teeth reluctantly giving up their hold on Robb's skin. Robb lets out a deep, shuddering breath, and looks down to see Theon. There are tears in his eyes, and yet he's smirking again, wearing a look of unbearable smugness. Jon groans. 

“Don't you look at me like that, Greyjoy. Not after how you begged. Who's the needy slut now?” 

Theon raises an eyebrow. “Snow, this is no time to score points.” 

Because Robb is still hard. 

He starts whimpering, squirming, and Jon hisses at the pain of that but there's no way he can complain now, not after what they just put Theon through. “Please,” he whispers, back to helpless begging, and Theon just chuckles as he tightens his fist around Robb's prick and strokes surely. 

“Our insatiable slut, dripping with come and still not done, not yet,” he says. Robb's terrified they might try to pull out, but they don't, they just stay there filling him up even as his body must be torturing them, Theon's fingers stretching him wide as their pricks give up that task. “You know, Snow, we should be a little worried. One day, this boy is going to break us both.” 

“It'd be worth it,” murmurs Jon. 

“Oh of course, that goes without saying.” 

Robb moans as Jon's hand folds over Theon, giving him guidance he doesn't need, the two of them stroking him stronger, faster, better together. Then Jon's other hand drifts away from Robb's hip, to his hole, stuffed and red and so so sore – and slips just one more finger in, and like that Robb lets out a desperate scream as every bit of him shatters, he clenches as tight as he possibly can, and he just lets go, releases so hard it splashes all over Theon, across his chest and neck and up to his chin, one fat drop landing right on his bottom lip. 

Robb almost collapses as the tension flees his body, but their hands return from his prick to his hips to keep him steady. Their fingers are still inside him though, and Robb shudders at the feel of how full he still is, bursting with cock and come and anything else he can get inside him. Finally, it's a little too much, and he starts to squirm with pain. 

“Easy, easy Robb,” Jon whispers as he slowly slides his finger out. Theon doesn't say anything, just removes his fingers one at a time, and Robb whimpers with equal relief and reluctance as each one goes. Then it's Jon's prick, with a sigh and a wince. And finally, Theon's big cock is the last to leave, looking much smaller now, almost humbled – as well as sore and red and bruised. Robb flinches in guilt at the sight of it, almost wanting to lean down and suck it in apology, but he doubts that would improve the situation. 

He's so empty, come running down his legs lewdly, and Robb feels so very satisfied and yet somehow still craves more, more he knows he cannot possibly take. He can't even imagine what he owes them now. 

“Gods, look at you,” Theon whispers, looking up at Robb with a smile – not a smirk, a _smile_. “Look at _that_.” Now it's a smirk. Theon can't even see his arse like this, and yet he can't stay away from it, two fingers making their way back and rubbing – not pushing in, but just gently teasing back and forth to feel Robb shiver beneath them, smearing that wet hot come around. 

“Such a used little hole. It looks fucking amazing like this. Or should I say he?” Robb just closes his eyes and moans. “You know what, we should find some sort of cork for you. Like a wine bottle. Keep you full and wet and dripping with come at all times, then whenever we want you, we can just bend you over and take you. Would you like that, little lord?” 

Jon scoffs at the ridiculousness of the idea, and Robb says nothing, even though he doesn't think the idea is so ridiculous – he thinks it's sort of the best idea he's ever heard. 

When he opens his eyes, Theon looks as smug as ever – and yet his lip trembles. There's still a thick line of come across it, and he's shaking with the effort it takes not to just lick it away. Robb wants to roll his eyes. Honestly, does he have to do everything for him? 

“I know you would,” whispers Theon. “But no matter. Some other time. Now you and I, precious lordling, just had a bit of a conversation – do you remember? Such a good boy, I'm sure your lady mother drilled into you the importance of keeping your promises. And cleaning up your messes.” 

Robb groans. Indeed she did. Just to tease however, he starts from the bottom, laving his tongue over the seed spread all over Theon's stomach, before making his way up to where his heart is, feeling it thud beneath the skin. He can't him but moan, loving the taste of himself, although not as much as he loves the taste of them. He spends a little longer than is strictly speaking necessary going over Theon's nipples, just to hear him gasp and feel him buck helplessly – Theon's nipples are so sensitive, and Robb knows neither him nor Jon ever pays them enough attention. He'll have to make up for that. 

One he makes his way to the neck, he pauses a little after he's cleaned a patch of skin, so he can kiss it and suck it and bite it, anything to leave a mark. Theon groans and grabs at Robb's hair. Finally, Robb leans up to Theon's chin, licking up all that come, teasing that lip with just the tip of his tongue, before he presses his lips to Theon's and shares the taste with him with a forceful and greedy mouth. Theon moans like he's never been so satisfied in his life. 

“So dirty,” Jon whispers, almost in awe, and Robb swears he can hear him blushing. Before he can think about that however, Jon is moving, and then Robb feels it – a hot tongue pressing at his stretched and bruised hole. _No, I can't take it_ , he thinks immediately, but Jon's mouth is so good, gentle and kind, soothing away all the pain, and Robb moans into Theon's mouth as he keens toward it. As Jon pulls away and crawls up the bed to lay beside them, Robb doesn't think twice before he breaks the kiss with Theon, a string of spit and come snapping across both their chins, and leans over to press his mouth to Jon's, tasting his come and Theon's and his own hole that it spilled out of. 

Jon's right, it's _so_ dirty. Theon's made fun of him before, said when he tried telling Ros about his new favourite whores and all the filthy depraved things they wouldn't even charge for, she just laughed and assumed he was making it up. _Nice try Greyjoy, but if you want me to do all that you're paying full price_. The thought makes Robb blush a little, but he can't help himself, he can't even bring himself to be that ashamed of it, really. Not when it makes him feel so good. They _love_ him, he knows that, and they do all these horrible degrading things to him because they know he wants it so much. He is a whore, he's such a whore, but the Others can take coins and gold and shiny trinkets – their love is the best payment any whore's ever had. 

Robb sighs as he breaks the kiss with Jon, rolling off Theon to collapse between the two of them. He still sort of wants more, but it can wait until the morning – he's exhausted, he needs _sleep_. He smiles as he feels Theon's long archer's fingers drumming along his spine, Jon's sword-calloused ones grabbing his hips possessively. This is where he belongs, between the two of them. He can imagine himself as the Lord of Winterfell, and he can imagine himself as a hole only fit to fuck, but he can't ever imagine himself without his two – his _two_. 

“Well I don't believe it,” whispers Theon, “has Dorne frozen over? Has the Iron Sea dried up? Has some fucking sunlight finally come to the North? Have we actually worn our Lord Stark out?” 

Jon laughs. “Take the rest while you can get it. He'll be up and begging again before dawn.” 

“Oh, I hope so.” 

“Really now. You know, you shouldn't tease him so much for being such an insatiable slut, since you're clearly one yourself.” 

“That's different, Snow. On Pyke, fucking’s just a way of life. It’s our version of praying in the Godswood: if you don’t do it often enough, bad things happen.” 

“You were ten when you left Pyke, Theon.” 

“It's in my blood, Snow.” 

“Good thing too, I'd hate to know what you'd have been like if you were fucking your way through everything any younger. Honestly, you're the biggest pervert out of all three of us.” 

“I take great offence at that,” replies Theon, affronted. “Do I need to remind you that Robb here starts jabbering about taking every cock in Winterfell in every hole he’s got the minute one of us two fills his arse up? He’d have Jory Cassel in his left ear if it was the only place left. Filthy slut.” 

Robb can't help but flush. He's only actually mentioned that fantasy twice, maybe three times – okay four, but that last one hardly counts, since Theon shoved his prick down his throat before he could get more than a few words out. Besides, he probably wouldn't actually fuck Jory Cassel. His dreams of fucking every man in Winterfell tend to fall apart as soon as he starts thinking about each specific man in Winterfell. And who could live up to these two? 

“He would not have Jory Cassel,” says Jon, making a face. 

“No, I suppose you’re right,” agrees Theon. “I’ve seen his cock, and it’s tiny!” 

That might also be a factor. 

Robb could swear there's a knot of jealousy in Jon's voice when he speaks. “Really,” he says, and it seems to mean _when did you see Jory's cock, Theon_? Neither of them notices Robb's sigh. That is not something he wants to deal with, but he's going to have to. Just not tonight. 

Theon laughs again. “Smaller than yours, Jon, don't worry. You're not about to be kicked out.” 

“I am an inch shorter than you, Theon.” 

“Aye, but what an inch.” 

“Oh, _enough_!” Jon and Theon both jump when Robb's eyes snap open. They probably thought he had nodded off. He rolls his head to glare at them both in turn. “If the question is, 'which of you do I like better', the answer is if I didn't enjoy this quite so much, I'd probably slit both your throats in your sleep.” 

There's a pause as Jon and Theon look at each other over his shoulder, considering this. 

Theon breaks the silence. “Yeah, but whose throat would you slit _first?_ ” 

Robb groans.


End file.
